


An Abundance of Blue

by alex_wh0



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew has a cat, Cafes, Enemies to Lovers, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker, Model!Neil, Renee bakes, Roommates, artist!andrew, lots of art, mentions of scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:20:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_wh0/pseuds/alex_wh0
Summary: Andrew and Neil have a meet-hate. The enemies to roommates to lovers fic you need with a side dose of pining.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 74
Kudos: 292





	1. Chapter 1

Something like dread filtered through Andrew’s mind, settling heavily between his thoughts, blanketing, suffocating, and spilling out. He shook his head once and looked back at his sketchbook, open to a blank page, its empty white taunting him. He sighed and stretched, popping his left shoulder first, then his right. Renee smiled at him from behind the counter and he nodded at her – a greeting and acknowledgement rolled into one.

“Any progress,” she asked, taking out a plate and loading it with choux parties and a cinnamon roll, and walked around the counter to sit next to him. The café had floor to ceiling windows that filled the place with buttery sunlight every day from 4 in the afternoon. Andrew always chose the seats near the windows. Renee joked that he was secretly a cat, and Andrew secretly agreed.

“I wouldn’t know progress if it stared me in the face,” Andrew sighed, and reached out for a pastry, chewing it slowly, feeling its sweetness dissipate on his tongue.

“It’ll come to you,” Renee murmured, adding “eventually” when Andrew shot her a glare. He sucked in a breath. “Maybe. But maybe I’ll forever remain blank. What would I do then?”

“Frame the blank canvases and call them modern interpretations of your subconscious mind,” Renee shot back, even as Andrew leveled her with a withering stare.

“How’s King?” she asked, changing the topic, unraveling the cinnamon roll a little, dusting off crumbs that fell on her skirt. Andrew shrugged, “Fat and lazy, the attention-seeking idiot.” Renee laughed, a quiet sound that Andrew pictured as liquid silver.

He had few friends, and fewer among those that he truly felt comfortable with. In college, when he had gotten into a fight with a group of homophobic assholes, help had come from unexpected quarters. He had watched in awed silence as Renee had deftly knocked out two men twice her size in minutes, smoothed down her dove grey skirt and turned to him with an effortless “alright there?”

She had taken him to a café (hers, she later told him) called the Fox’s Tail, given him a slice of cake, introduced him to her girlfriend Allison, and had spoken to him in a way not many people bothered to. He had felt seen. He had left with his chest feeling a little less tight. Now, two years later, Renee always had Andrew’s spot ready for him.

“So, have you decided what you’re going to do about the roommate situation,” she ventured, breaking Andrew from his trail of thoughts. He shook his head minutely, and looked up at her. “Not yet, no.”

She nodded once and got up, swiping crumbs off her shirt. “Let me know if you need anything. More choux pastries, paints, inspiration,” she smiled mischievously before walking off.

And Andrew returned to glowering at his plain white blank sketchbook. He knew what exactly would break his art block, he knew what he had to do to make colour saturate the blank expanse of his sketchbook again. But he was also a stubborn bastard who refused to give in to his ideas.

His mind always went back to that moment two months ago when Nicky had dragged him and Aaron to go shopping with him. A harshly lit trial room at a thrift store wasn’t where Andrew Minyard thought he’d find the highlight of his day. But there he had stood, one hand tangled in a sheer black tank top, staring at a pair of blue eyes like it was his second coming. It could have been his second coming that day if he had kept looking, but he had averted his gaze to look away from the full-length poster, cursing when he saw it reflected in the mirror facing him.

This should be illegal, he’d thought, even as he had dragged his gaze over the man’s terribly blue eyes, the freckles along his nose, and the almost obscene way his lips curved around a cherry, another dangling down his chin.

“Andrew, are you done, I’m hungry,” Nicky’s voice had come floating in and Andrew mentally cursed himself again. Those shoulders would look great in pastel yellow, or sheer black. _Or your dark blue bedsheet,_ his treacherous brain had helpfully supplied before he had stormed out.

It was ridiculous, the way some random model on a worn out poster on the back wall of a nondescript thrift shop had managed to snag Andrew’s attention, or ‘art brain’ as Renee liked to put it. His fingers inched towards the tubes of paint scattered on the table, favouring blue over the others, before he stopped himself with a mental slap to his forehead.

_Ultramarine._

_Cerulean._

_Azure._

_Cornflower._

He sighed and stuffed another choux pastry into his mouth, as though aggressively biting into it would cure him of his art block, and his blue fever.

He had more pressing issues at hand; assignments from clients that kept piling up, apartment rent that seemed to be impossible to pay by the minute, a possible part-time position that he had been eyeing for a while but didn’t have the courage to take up. He sighed, stowing away the paints and the sketchbook in his bag, fidgeting with the straps like that could offer him answers.

_Art block: 1, Andrew: 0_

“See you later, Renee. I’ll text you,” he waved at her on his way past the counter where she was decorating a large cheesecake with strawberry coulis. Allison gave him a small nod of acknowledgement that he returned. They didn’t have the best of relationships, but Andrew tolerated her for Renee’s sake, and she did the same and they didn’t disturb the tenuous quiet of the café with their unsaid thoughts.

Andrew stepped out on to the pavement, sighed and hoisted his backpack higher up his shoulders. He headed to the supermarket to buy pasta for himself and cat treats for King. He had practically done nothing today.

_Like yesterday, like the day before,_ a voice whispered in his head.

But was glad to be getting back home.

Aching, empty and expensive as fuck. But home, nevertheless.


	2. Chapter 2

Neil Josten loathed change the same way he loathed his scars – with a vengeance and a sense of resignation. The full-length mirror reflected them back to him now – the gashes streaking along his forearms, the circular burn scars on his knuckles, the ridges on his right cheek, the burn mark on his left. He angled his torso slightly to the left and the light caught the myriad lines crisscrossing his abdomen, shoulders, chest and collarbone, throwing them into sharp relief against the paleness of his skin.

He shuddered and pulled on a shirt, breathing out slowly as the scars disappeared beneath the flimsy white material. He looked around for a pair of clean jeans and, distractedly glancing at the clock every two minutes. At 10:30 am, his phone rang and jumped a foot into the air, cursing quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Is this how you answer calls?”

“Good morning, Allison. How have you been in the past 14 hours, eight of which were probably spent in sleeping.”

“Snarky bastard.”

Neil laughed, low and long, and heard Allison huff on the other side. He had no idea what he’d do without her.

“You’ll have dinner with me today?”

“The shoot is at 4pm.”

“Dinner comes after, idiot,” she said, drawing out the syllables of ‘ _after_ ’ like a piece of bubblegum she constantly chomped on.

He sighed. “I need to find a place to stay, Ally.”

“I know, hence the dinner.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tut tut is there no point to mystery anymore?”

“Did you actually say tut tut?”

“Shut up.”

Neil ended up bickering with her for another 30 minutes before hanging up. He looked down at his phone long after the call ended, struggling to keep down the warmth bubbling up in his gut.

Four years ago, he thought he had been broken beyond repair. Four years ago he thought he would never be able to wake up to another sunrise. Four years ago, the FBI gave him a name and a shot at life he wasn’t sure he deserved. Four years ago, he had walked into the nearest hairdresser in his oversized, faded jeans, ratty grey hoodie, and wilted under Allison’s narrowed eyes and acerbic scrutiny.

He had expected a comment about the scars, or about his panicked gaze cataloguing every exit the small shop had, or about his clothes, or about the way he did not _fit_ , but it never came. All she had said was “that’s a terrible colouring job” and proceeded to usher him into a seat, ignoring the way he had flinched at his reflection and at the pair of scissors in her hand.

He was shaken out of reverie by his phone.

“Yeah.”

“Neil, I swear-“

“Fine. HELLO,” he bellowed causing Allison to shut up.

“God, I’ll go deaf at this rate.”

“Serves you right. What is it now?”

“What I’m not allowed to call my friend out of the blue is it?”

“Out of the fucking blue my ass. You called me barely 30 minutes ago.”

“Okay shut up.”

“You shut up.”

“You- Okay fine, Renee, sorry. Anyway,” she cleared her throat, “We have a problem.”

Neil stilled. Problems could range from a popped car tire to one of his father’s former henchmen coming back to kill him. “What is it?”

“The photographer dropped out.”

*

The phone was Andrew’s nemesis. He had one on him because Nicky panicked if they went without talking for more than three days. That didn’t mean he attended calls or responded to texts every time the phone pinged. He called it an unnecessary distraction; Renee called him a drama queen. It rang now, shrill and insistent – pulling him from the vestiges of a dream that was rapidly floating away from him, despite his efforts to hang on. He let the phone ring and padded into the kitchen, grumbling as he switched on the coffee machine.

It rang again 20 minutes later when he walked out to the balcony to water the plants Nicky and Aaron had bought him as a housewarming gift. _Keeping them alive is way to ensure that you keep yourself alive_ , Aaron had told him, tone brusque and short. Bee had suggested the same thing to him when he had moved in, but a way that was softer than Aaron could be. He sighed and flicked a glance at the scars crisscrossing the insides of his forearms, raised and silvery in the morning sunlight.

The third time it rang, he picked up, ready to yell, and Renee’s soft voice on the other end soothed him despite his best intentions.

“Andrew, hello.”

He huffed, “Yeah.”

“I forget how taciturn you can be.”

“Liar,” he said, and heard her chuckle.

“I need a favour from you.”

“You mean me picking up your call isn’t one?”

“Can’t argue with that,” she said, and Andrew _heard_ her smile.

“What is it?”

“Allison’s photographer bailed at the last moment.”

Andrew hummed in response. It had been years since he had taken any decent pictures.

“Would it interest you?” she continued, and Andrew felt at a loss.

“I don’t know,” he replied on autopilot, nonplussed.

She hesitated, “I thought it might be a good opportunity, since you mentioned-”

Andrew cut her off before she could say _you’re struggling for funds_. “I’ll do it.”

“Than-”

“Tell Allison I’ve never done this before.”

Andrew definitely heard her smile now. “I will.”

“What is the shoot for?”

“It’s for a magazine. Her friend Neil is modeling.”

He nodded and then realised that she wouldn’t be able to see him. “Okay.”

“Also.”

“I don’t like the sound of that also.”

“Come out for dinner with us later.”

“Who’s us?”

“Me, Allison and Neil.”

“I’m not meeting new people.”

“It’s my way of saying thank you.”

“Have you considered using your words, Renee?”

She laughed this time. “I’ll get you that ice cream you like. All four flavours.”

Andrew sighed. “Bribery doesn’t suit you.”

“I know but is it working?”

He sighed again. “It is.”

She hung up after giving him the address and time.

He caught his reflection in the mirror on the way to the kitchen and hurriedly looked away. There was only so much Andrew Minyard could take in a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a good while huh. Come say hi to me on Tumblr or Twitter!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting, a disaster.

Andrew thought he was being subtle.

He was, in fact, not.

Andrew was staring. While standing right in the middle of a supermarket, no less.

He hurriedly moved onto the next aisle, listlessly picking through packets of pasta, his knuckles hitting a row of glass bottles, creating music, thinking about the absurdity of coincidence and the red strings of fate.

Sometimes, Andrew had dreams so vicious, so vivid and so _real_ , that he’d woken up with hope clogging his throat. He wondered if he was in a dream right now. Because there was no iteration of him that could accept that the personification of his longing was now in front of him – in flesh and blood, inside a small, dusty store tucked into a corner of a city so small that it should be unplottable.

“What are the fucking chances,” he muttered to himself, picking up a bottle of soy sauce.

 _His eyes are really that blue_ , he mused to himself, picking up a loaf of bread next. _Hair that red should be outlawed_ , he griped quietly, stacking four family-size tubs of ice cream on top of each other and carrying them in the crook of his arm. _Pity his clothing sense is so bad, or I’d have done something drastic_ , he thought, picking up a box of instant milkshake powder and balancing it atop the ice cream.

He rounded a corner and promptly dropped everything.

Because leaning against the shelves was Andrew’s best and worst nightmare – it depended on how you looked at it.

“That’s a real odd combination of things,” his nightmare drawled, picking up the soy sauce and a tub of vanilla ice cream. He looked up from the floor, straight into Andrew’s eyes, his gaze a thing of unnerving beauty.

Andrew huffed, his gaze raking over his face – the sharp cheekbones, the burn marks on them, his hair flopping into his eyes –

“My eyes are here,” he said, handing Andrew’s scattered possessions to him, and Andrew hated him.

“Is that so?” he bit back , instantly defensive.

“Did your mother teach you not to stare?”

“My mother died in a car crash. I don’t think she had the time.”

The stranger tilted his head at Andrew, expression inscrutable, and said, “How interesting. Mine too.”

Andrew instantly wanted to be elsewhere. He had woken that morning feeling restless and prickly, the feeling carrying over into the afternoon. He had wanted to escape, to flee, to run and run till everything melted and he didn’t feel himself anymore.

The only thing that had tethered him was his promise to Renee that he would help her girlfriend out. He had left his house way too early – the walls were throwing his introspection back at him

The café was a no go – too many people for him to be tucked away comfortably, his car seemed like a dubious choice – too stuffy, too small. On a whim, he had nipped into the tiny supermarket off the main road that no one he knew went to.

Except for very good looking men who seemed to have stepped straight out of his dreams. _What a nuisance._

“What a coincidence” Andrew muttered, and the stranger narrowed his eyes at him, and cleared his throat.

“I’d appreciate it if you stop looking at my scars.”

“I have better things to do,” Andrew scoffed, scooping up the tubs of ice cream, the bottle of sauce, bread and everything else into his arms. “And, all of us have scars. Yours don’t make it any special.”

“I- that’s-” the man spluttered, and Andrew leveled him with a stare. “Hop along, scarface. Pretty sure you have other people to snipe at.”

Scarface sent Andrew a look of pure loathing. “You know, maybe find someone else to take your defensive potshots at. What did you do, wake up in your empty, expensive apartment and decided that you’ll be a bitch at absolute strangers today? Thought you’ll take a dig at their appearance, and belittle them for the same without knowing the trauma that they might or might not associate with it?

He took a deep breath, and continued, “I don’t know you, and you sure as fuck don’t know me. So go along, live your drab, dreary life as you please. Have a nice day.”

Andrew sucked in a breath as he watched the man do an about turn and storm out of the store. He dumped his groceries on the counter and the cashier looked at him. “Four tubs, Andrew?” She examined them slowly, “All vanilla.”

“Shut up, Alma,” he muttered, and slammed down a bottle of chocolate sauce to go along with it. “It’s a classic.” And then, “Who’s scarface?” he gestured to the door.

“No idea. He seems new,” she said, looking supremely unconcerned and Andrew hated her for it.

“He seemed jumpy when I asked for his name though,” she scanned the soy sauce and dumped it into a bag with the ice cream and bread.

Andrew wondered why someone with a relatively famous face would be jumpy when faced with a situation where their name was needed. He then realised with a sinking feeling that he didn’t know his name. He couldn’t exactly trek down to the thrift store and ask them about a mouldy poster stuck to the door of their trial room.

“Soy sauce? Really?” Alma’s voice jarred him from his thoughts.

Andrew huffed, “Why?”

“You only ever buy ice cream, Andrew,” she shrugged. “This doesn’t really go along with it.”

“Maybe I’m trying a new sundae,” he retorted and she took a single moment to look at him, before packing everything together.

“Sure. Let me know how that goes.”

“I’ll get you some.”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Gladly.”

Andrew sighed and pushed the door open. “What a brilliant day,” he muttered to himself and lit a cigarette. _If only scarface knew how his morning had gone_ , he thought with a wry smirk.

It was with a flash of relief that he woke up every day – a split second of weightless ease lifting his mood up before his body woke up, tightening into itself, turning him into the tightly wound specimen that was Andrew Minyard.

That morning, he had stretched, popping the kinks in his spine one by one, sprawling out across the bed, burrowing his toes deeper into the sheets. Sunlight warm and buttery had spilled across the bed, lighting up his shoulders and midriff. Andrew had rolled over slightly and pulled the man next to him closer, burying his face in his neck, letting the soft curls at the nape of his neck tickle his nose.

He had reached out with the back of his forefinger and traced a line from the man’s shoulder to elbow, watching it turn a pale blue, like paint against a blank canvas. His companion had turned around, blinking sleepily at him, and Andrew had stilled. He knew the exact shape and colour of those eyes – he would recognise them anywhere. He had leaned up on one elbow and taken in the faded scars on the man’s left cheek and the bird’s nest of auburn hair on his head, and had inhaled sharply.

The dream had then dissipated.

He had woken up abruptly, clawing at empty sheets, a hot prickly feeling burrowing under his skin, expanding, expanding and _expanding_ till he felt like he would burst from it.

“If only you knew, asshole,” he said to himself, angrily crushing the half-smoked cigarette beneath his boot.

*

Allison turned around when Neil walked in, a snide retort dying on her lips. “What the hell are you wearing, Neil?”

Neil stopped and looked down at his loose jeans and grey t-shirt, nonplussed, “Why?”

Allison sighed. “You’re late.”

“I know.”

“You wound me, Neil. Have I taught you nothing?” she chided, shepherding him into a dressing room off to the side of the studio.

“Honestly there’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing,” Neil huffed, but allowed Allison to push him into a chair.

“Shut up,” she said, throwing out clothes off a rack. “I can’t be having this conversation with you now.”

Neil shook his head fondly and toed his shoes off, noticing a few rips in them. Maybe she had a point. Maybe he needed new clothes.

“So, why were you late?”

Neil grimaced. “Ran into some asshole in the supermarket. He kept looking at my scars.”

Allison shoved a pair of shimmery white pants in a gossamer material on to his lap. “How do you know he was staring at your scars and not ogling you?”

Neil spluttered, rubbing his fingers over the hem of the pants. “Obviously he wasn’t ogling me. Have you seen me?”

Allison straightened at that. “You do realise that you’re a professional model right?”

Neil scoffed.

“Plus your cheekbones can cut glass,” she said, dumping a tight, sheer sleeveless shirt with sequins on the pants. He eyed them dubiously. “What’s this?”

“Taste, Josten,” she said, rooting around the shoe rack and set a pair of muted red oxfords on top of the clothes. “Now, change. Fast.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “There’s a solid 45 minutes till shoot, Alli. Will you calm your farm?”

“No,” she muttered, switching on the vanity lights, unpacking the makeup. “Don’t talk about calm to me, you yelled at a stranger because you thought they were judging your scars.”

“He SO WAS,” Neil raged. “Also, my cheekbones definitely can’t cut glass. Glass on skin hurts like a bitch.”

“It’s a figure of speech, you uncultured idiot,” she yelled after his retreating form. “Honestly.”

Half-an-hour later, he looked into the mirror and didn’t recognise himself. The clothes were stark against his tanned skin, the sheer shirt showed off some scars, while the sequins hid the worst of them. But what he liked best was the dark eyeliner Alli had swiped over his eyelids and the red lipstick she’d applied in the last minute.

“To match your shoes,” she said, ruffling his curls so that they fell over his forehead, obscuring a single eyebrow.

“It’s itchy.”

“It’s artistic.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.”

Renee coughed from somewhere behind them, and they turned, wearing matching guilty expressions.

“Andrew’s here.”

Allison kissed Renee on the cheek, and said, “Ask him to come in,” even as Neil said, “Who?”

Renee turned to him. “The photographer. May I add that you look stunning, Neil?”

Neil fidgeted, smoothing down his pants unnecessarily, “Thanks, Renee.”

The door opened and all three of them looked around.

This time, it was only Neil who spoke – a single eloquent “fuck”.


	4. Chapter 4

“Give him a chance.”

“No.”

“Andrew-”

“No, I’m not going to give some asshole who yelled at me a chance, Renee. Forget it.”

Renee sighed, leaning against Andrew’s table. “You did call him scarface.”

“Only after he drew attention to them. Of his own volition. Like I’d care about his scars,” Andrew scoffed, jabbing his brush viciously at a glob of red paint. “I will not give him any chances. It was enough torture that I had to look at his face at the shoot.”

“It was torture, was it? came a voice that Andrew was growing to dread every time he heard it.

He looked up – eyebrows furrowed, eyes blazing – straight into Neil’s eyes. “It was.”

Neil’s mouth thinned to a flat line. “Do you even know what torture is?”

“I do,” Andrew nearly snarled. “Probably more than you think you do.”

“Is that so now?” Neil bristled, and Renee coughed, causing both of them to startle and lean back.

“No fighting in the café, boys,” she said, tone mild, but chastising enough that Andrew had to look away. Shame burned through his cheeks; he hated it when Renee had to rein him in.

“Fine,” he huffed, sending a glare in Neil’s direction, strong enough to dent his skin. Neil turned and walked to the counter, leaning against it to talk to Renee.

“I hate everything,” Andrew muttered, attacking his paints again.

He could hear Neil and Renee talking in low whispers, but they abruptly stopped when Allison walked in. Andrew watched as she pulled Neil into a one-armed hug and ruffled his hair, while he valiantly resisted her efforts. He felt a pang go through him, and shook his head, irritation clouding his mind.

Renee and Allison disappeared into the back and Andrew was hit with the sudden realisation that he was alone with Neil. It made his skin prickle, and his neck grew warm as he tried to focus on his work.

_Don’t look up._

_Don’t look up._

_Don’t look up._

He looked up.

And found Neil staring back.

“See something interesting?” he snapped, and Neil turned away, muttering what sounded like _asshole_.

*

“Give him a chance.”

“Why should I?”

“Neil.”

“Alli”

She fixed him with a stare and Neil floundered. He knew that stare. He had been at the receiving end of too many of those stares. It usually preceded long periods of time when Allison would refuse to acknowledge his existence. He hated it.

“We don’t get along. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Apologise,” she said, clicking through photos on her laptop.

Neil bristled. “He criticised my scars, Alli. I am not going to pretend to like him.”

Allison looked at him over the frame of her glasses, “First, I don’t think he did. You got defensive because he was looking at you.” Neil frowned but didn’t say anything. “Second, you have every right to yell at anyone who makes you uncomfortable, but all I’m saying is don’t jump to conclusions.” Neil slumped against her shoulder, “Ugh. I hate it when you’re right.”

Allison patted his head, “And I always am. But, I’m not done here.” Neil groaned.

“Third,” she held up her finger, “You don’t have to pretend to like him. You only have to tolerate his presence.”

“Why does it matter so much to you?” Neil mumbled, pressing his face into a pillow and turning to look at her.

Allison looked up and fixed him with a level gaze. “Because it means a lot to Renee, and that, by default, means a lot to me.” Neil opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with “I will end anyone who makes her sad. And that includes you.”

Neil squawked like an indignant pigeon for a second and then snapped his mouth shut. “You’re really whipped, Reynolds.” Allison only rolled her eyes in response as if to say _so what?_

Neil sighed and lay back on the bed, legs propped across her thighs, head hanging over the edge, and contemplated the world from his upside down perch.

“I’ll try,” he said, after a couple of minutes of silence. “For you. And for Renee, because she’s been nothing but welcoming to me.”

Allison smiled at him. The afternoon sun slanted into the room in long, buttery shafts.

“It can’t be all that bad, can it?” Neil wondered, more to himself.

*

“You’re meeting him tomorrow,” Renee announced as she swept into Andrew’s flat, smelling of cherries and chocolate.

Andrew gaped at her, bed head waving dangerously, eyes still puffy from sleep. “What?” he croaked at her retreating form as it disappeared into the kitchen. “Renee,” he protested.

“Take a shower, I’m making pancakes,” she held up a grocery bag, her tone final. Andrew sighed. “You’re a menace, Walker,” he muttered, stalking toward the bathroom, listening to Renee’s laugh tinkle silver in the morning air.

They took their plates to the balcony and sat on the upcycled wicker chairs Renee had gifted him when he had moved in. “You still haven’t told me why,” he said around a mouthful of pancake, trying not to glare at Renee from the corner of his eyes. 

Renee stretched her arms above her head and turned to look at him, “He said he doesn’t mind getting along with you.”

Andrew gawped. “That’s a lie, Walker.”

Renee rolled her eyes and smiled, “Fine. That was a mild stretch. But he is willing to tolerate your presence.”

“I don’t need anyone tolerating my presence,” he snapped, morose at the thought that he had lost his appetite.

“No,” Renee said patiently, “But you can tolerate his. For me.”

He looked at her and let his head fall back until it thumped the back of his chair. He hated mornings; the unnecessary cheerfulness, the dread that slithered in unwanted, the questions that begged him for answers.

“Only tolerate?” he asked, knowing full well that he sounded like a petulant child.

“Only tolerate,” Renee replied, tilting her head at him. “Plus,” she said, “I’m making mini chocolate tarts today and was hoping my favourite tester would come around.”

Andrew glared at her. “That’s bribery.”

“Are you saying no?” she cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Of course not. I’m coming.”

She grinned at him, getting a reluctant twitch of his lips in return.

*

Andrew flicked his brush, watching a line of red appear before it ran out on the white of the canvas. He followed it up with blue right next to it, so that the lines between them blurred, creating a watery swathe of jagged purple.

He stole another glance at his watch. _3:45 pm._ The café had a few people, and the expectant air before rush hour hit. He added another layer of red and watched it meld with the canvas.

He felt, rather than saw when Neil stood next to his table. “What do you want?” Andrew said without looking up, trying to go for a neutral tone and failing.

“What are you painting?”

At that, he looked up. Neil was in black tank top and faded yellow shorts – every scar on display, the full force of his gaze trained on Andrew, and he felt his mouth go dry.

“No one ever asks an artist that,” Andrew snapped at him. “Now shut up so I can work.”

He expected Neil to sit elsewhere, but he plopped himself down on the chair next to him and pulled his feet up. Andrew rolled his eyes and went back to work, but his mind wasn’t in it; it was rather acutely aware of Neil’s proximity and Andrew didn’t know if he wanted to punch him or kiss him on his stupid mouth.

“Neil!” Allison’s voice came floating from the entrance. “You’re here.” She stopped short when she saw Andrew look at her. “Oh you’re here too, Minyard. I’m going to find my girlfriend,” she said, dropping her bag on Neil’s lap, causing him to grunt in surprise. Andrew valiantly ignored both of them until Renee came to the table.

“Hello, Neil,” she said, smiling at him. She set down a tray of chocolate tarts and nudged Andrew shoulder. He made a face at her, making her laugh. “Okay, here’s the deal,” Allison said, swinging her long hair over her shoulder. “Now that you two are friends,” she said, gesturing to Andrew and Neil, who automatically bristled in response.

“We are NOT-” began Neil, but Andrew cut in with an “Absolutely not.” They both turned to look at Renee and Allison who were wearing identical expressions of disappointment.

“I only said I’ll tolerate him,” Andrew glowered at both of them, surprised that Neil nodded. “Tolerate, I said, not friendship, Alli.”

The two women sighed and looked at each other. Renee cleared her throat, “We have an idea that we think will help both you. Can you at least listen to it before you both say no?”

Andrew nodded and looked at Neil who resolutely refused to meet his eyes.

“So, Neil needs a place to stay, and Renee tells me that Andrew needs a roommate,” Allison began.

For an insane second, Andrew pictured the two of them in his bed – legs tangled, exchanging slow kisses as King _mrrow’d_ his way on to the bed – and then the picture dissolved like bright yellow paint in murky brown water when Neil cut her off with a “no” and left, door banging in his wake.

Allison turned toward him, consternation lining her expression and said, “I’m sorry, Minyard. He’s a little touchy about his living situation. I should have explained it to him first.”

“You should have,” Andrew agreed. “But no means no, Reynolds. If he doesn’t want to, you can’t force him.”

Allison looked at him, brows furrowed in thought. “And what if he says yes? Would you be okay with that?”

Andrew sat back, exhaling quietly, even as Renee patted his knee and got up to welcome a bunch of customers.

“I think it would be okay. How hard can it be really?” he told Allison, but it sounded like he was convincing himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a movie theatre in here. And ice cream

Andrew leaned against the Maserati and lit a cigarette, the tip flaring red briefly before dimming. Like his mood, like the day around him that was slowly extinguishing itself into night. He blew out a stream of smoke and sighed.

Lights blinked on at the storefronts lining the main square. Andrew counted a bookstore, two restaurants, a cafe – not Renee’s – a pizza place, a couple of boutiques, the flashy supermarket next to the bank. He flicked the ash from the cigarette and wondered if this was what stagnation felt like – dense and slow, like drowning in honey. He felt his neck prickle like someone was looking at him. He scoffed to himself and tugged at his armbands absently.

Minutes later, someone shuffled next to him, hands in pockets. Andrew noticed the shoes first – black boots with a stripe of teal twisting around the heels. Neil Josten stood next to him, hands shoved into his pockets, a grocery bag hanging from the crook of his right elbow, slightly sheepish expression firmly in place.

“Andrew,” he nodded, scuffing the heel of his boot against the asphalt.

Andrew looked at him in response, not yet ready to talk. He couldn’t help but remember the way Neil had stormed out of the cafe a week ago, leaving behind a trail of consternation. Allison had looked stricken, despite the soothing circles Renee had been drawing on her shoulder.

Neil shifted now, his body a ball of nervous energy. Andrew uncrossed his legs and crossed them again, took a deep drag of smoke into his lungs and held it in for a beat, feeling its bite before releasing it into the air. “What do you want?” he said, trying to keep his tone flat.

“I wanted to apologise,” Neil bit out, hand flying to his neck in a practised move.

“You don’t seem sorry,” Andrew responded, sounding calm.

“What do you want me to do?” Neil snapped and Andrew shifted a glance at him.

“Tell me what your problem is maybe,” Andrew drawled, taking satisfaction in the way Neil’s frown deepened. Andrew’s gaze surreptitiously trailed down to his lips, cataloguing little things on the way – like the way his nose was crooked, the way scars stretched across his skin, the tiny mole at the corner of his lips, the jut of his chin.

“Alli says I jump to conclusions easily,” Neil said on an exhale, drawing a hum in response from Andrew.

“Do you now?”

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

Andrew tamped down a slight smile at the petulant edge in Neil’s tone. He did not find it endearing. _He did not._

Andrew sighed, opening the door of his car. “What do you want, Josten?”

Neil shifted from one foot to another. “There’s an old movie theatre a couple of streets away,” he offered.

Andrew’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay? And what am I supposed to do? Buy it?”

“What?” Neil spluttered. “What? No, I mean. Wait why would you buy it?”

Andrew struggled to contain his laughter this time. It spilled out in a snort, startling them both. “I am kidding.”

“No shit.”

“So?”

“Um I mean. I think it’s thriller week.”

Andrew swung the car door a bit and looked at Neil. Neil looked back. “Isn’t this thrilling enough?” he gestured to the space between them. Neil huffed, annoyed.

“Asshole,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Andrew to hear. “I mean,” he hedged, “Do you want to watch something maybe?”

Andrew considered him for a moment before nodding his head. “Maybe.”

And when Neil grinned at him in return, he felt like his knees would buckle under its sharpness, its suddenness. Anger forgotten, he wordlessly slid into the driver’s seat, gesturing at Neil to get in.

The theatre was a rundown, single screen structure; a remnant from another era that refused to die yet. The seats were worn velvet, the screen curved, much smaller than what Andrew was used to. The tiny booth at entrance held a bored guy who gave them two tickets to Jaws and a bucket of popcorn with butter on top.

“Josten,” he nodded at Neil, and Andrew felt a flash of annoyance.

“How do you know this place,” he asked Neil, struggling to push the large doors open, while Neil stood by his side, smirking at his struggle. He glared at Neil, who finally acquiesced, pulling open the doors.

“Oh,” Andrew said, turning his glare onto the offending doors and strode inside. The cavernous room was lit with a couple of yellowing lamps that gleamed from the walls. They navigated to the middle of the hall and Andrew looked around.

“Are we the only people here?”

“Pretty much,” Neil said easily, moving past him to plop onto a seat in the middle row. “Come,” he turned his head in Andrew’s direction, “I’ve got us premium seats.”

Andrew snorted and sat next to Neil, balancing the popcorn on his lap. They were alone. Alone in a darkened movie theatre.

“So,” he cleared his throat. “Are you going to kill me or something?”

Neil looked at him, amusement evident in his expression. “Or something.”

In that moment, Andrew was thankful for his poker face. He shifted in his seat and proceeded to look at Neil Josten from the periphery of his eyes for the next two hours. Andrew catalogued all of Neil’s expressions, or what he could see in the reflection of the light from the screen – amusement, annoyance, consternation, disgust, resignation. He watched the way his lips curved in exasperation, the way he sucked in a breath when it got too intense. The way he dove into the tub of popcorn, leaving almost nothing for Andrew.

When the lights came on, Andrew pretended to be annoyed. “You ate all the popcorn.”

“I,” Neil gaped, “Absolutely did not.”

They were still seated, refusing to get up and leave. Leaving meant moving out of this strange little bubble and neither knew what awaited them outside. Andrew cleared his throat, “Do you come here often?” He resolutely gazed into the depths of the popcorn tub, refusing to look at Neil.

Neil sighed. “I come here almost every day.” At Andrew’s questioning glance, he added, “I like watching movies. Didn’t really have a lot of that growing up.”

Andrew sensed a story there but didn’t push him. “Do you hog all the popcorn straight from the machine?”

Neil looked surprised for a moment but let loose a grin that Andrew swore lit up the theatre better than any of the wheezing lamps did. “Oh, fuck off,” he said, but it lacked any heat.

“You know there’s a bigger theatre about 10 miles from here, right?”

Neil shrugged. “I like this one. Old movies, all the empty seats, endless snacks. What’s not to like?”

“All valid points, Josten,” Andrew said, getting up and brushing crumbs off his jeans.

“I know,” Neil scoffed and followed Andrew out.

He fidgeted with his sleeves while Andrew unlocked the car. “Are you coming or what?”

Neil looked up from the ground, distracted. “Andrew.”

Andrew stilled, hand still on the car door. Neil shuffled a little closer but still maintained a healthy distance from Andrew. “I am sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It’s just,” he ran a hand through his hair, making Andrew lose his train of thought for a moment. “I don’t do well with change and nothing has been stable for the past-”

Andrew held his hand up, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“But-”

“I accept your apology though,” he tugged his ear self-consciously.

Neil smiled. Andrew’s ears turned pink.

“Now, get in. I’ll drop you home.”

In the car, Neil rooted around his grocery bag and held out a tub of chocolate ice cream to Andrew. “I think it’s melted.”

Andrew looked at it. “For me?”

Neil rolled his eyes. “No, for your cat.”

“King has his own ice cream,” Andrew grumbled, taking the pint from him. “Thanks,” he mumbled, feeling annoyed again.

“So,” Neil hedged. “Can I come see the apartment tomorrow?”

Andrew assessed Neil for a second. “Was this a ploy to get into my good graces?”

Neil smirked, “Did it work?”

“Damn you, Josten,” Andrew revved the car and set off.

They both knew it was a ploy. And maybe Andrew didn’t care. For reasons.

He pulled out his phone later and texted Renee.

**Andrew:** _I am in so much trouble_

His phone pinged minutes later.

**Renee:** _I know_

**Renee:** _Tomorrow 11am_

Andrew was in so much trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've reached this space, TAKE MY APOLOGIES and my thanks xx


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neil moves in. Some jealousy, some eye-fucking. A wild Kevin Day appears.

Neil Josten moved into Andrew’s apartment on an exceptionally sunny day. He tugged a duffel bag from the boot of Allison’s car and then pulled out a bigger suitcase, grumbling under his breath.

“I’m kinda happy that you have only two bags,” Allison huffed, wiping sweat off her brow. Neil glared at her.

“All you’ve done is step out of your car, Alli.”

“Oh,” she said, turning to look at him with a grin. “I’m aware.”

Neil huffed, hauling both bags at once, batting away Renee’s offer of help. “Don’t bother, Renee,” Allison drawled, pushing past Neil. “He won’t accept any help.”

“I wonder why,” Renee said, chuckling. And then, “Oh look, it’s Andrew.”

Neil followed her line of sight up, up and _up_ until he found a blonde head of hair peering from the balcony railing five floors up. He squinted against the morning sunlight and flashed a grin. The blonde head disappeared from view.

Neil sighed and lugged his bags up four floors, refusing to get on the elevator because “they are death traps, oh my god. How do you even think of getting on them?” 

He panted slightly and walked toward the only open door on the floor and stopped. He gripped his suitcase a little tighter and stood rooted to the spot. _You’re making a mistake, Nathaniel_ , his mother’s voice taunted him and he felt only slightly sick. Neil was walking into the apartment of someone he wasn’t sure he liked. He was supposed to live there. He thought of shitholes he had stayed in, without safety, without food, without company, focusing on moving, moving and _moving_.

Why this felt like a trap but also like freedom, Neil did not know. He could almost taste the answer on his tongue, all he needed to do was think. 

“Having second thoughts?” came a voice from the doorway and Neil startled, sending the suitcase crashing to the floor. 

“Uh,” he gaped at Andrew. “I mean hi.”

Andrew stared back, unimpressed. “Josten.”

“Minyard,” Neil coughed, and bent down to pick up his suitcase. Andrew stepped forward and held out a hand for it. Neil was so surprised, he gave him his duffel bag.

“Tell me something,” Andrew shot him a glance and Neil braced himself. 

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to move in with me?”

Neil stuttered and then scowled. “That question is a trap.”

Andrew only smirked and shrugged his shoulders in response. Neil let out a long breath through his nose and looked at the wall. 

“Yes or no, Josten?”

Neil considered Andrew, his rumpled clothes, his messy head of hair and sharp, sharp gaze. He realised he was being given an out.

“Yes,” he said and smiled – all teeth.

Andrew stilled for a second and then nodded. Neil’s smile widened at the slight flush high on his cheeks.

\-----

“You can put your bags in the- oh _fuck_ ,” Andrew cut off mid-sentence and stopped abruptly in the doorway of the second room of his apartment. Dragging his hand through his hair, he turned to Neil, who was right behind him, with some amount of alarm.

“What is it?” Neil’s brows furrowed and Andrew flailed. Behind him on the floor, stood four tall stacks of canvases. He had forgotten to shift his paintings to his room. Neil peered over his shoulder, confused.

“You need a hand?”

Andrew dithered, torn between wanting to hide and wanting to be seen. “Uh,” he cleared his throat and Neil walked past him and dropped his bags at the foot of the bed, cocking his head to look at the topmost canvas on the stack closest to him. It was mess of yellows and orange, sharp brush strokes, his anger and fears hidden in plain sight.

Andrew tugged his sleeves over his hands, thumbs digging into his palms. Then Neil wordlessly bent down and effortlessly lifted a stack. Andrew forcibly dragged his gaze from Neil’s biceps to his face only to find him smirking slightly, the corner of his mouth anchoring the expression to his face.

Andrew blanched and then shook his head, “Keep them in my room, thanks.” Neil nodded and left. Andrew sighed at the ceiling and picked up another stack, staggering along the hallway to his room. And then almost dropped everything on his left foot.

“What are you doing?”

Neil looked up at him from his place on the floor, King on his lap, purring contently like the traitor he was. “Petting your cat, Minyard.”

“He hates strangers,” Andrew retorted sharply and Neil held both hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Hey, not my fault that he likes me more than you.” And then he bent down and kissed King’s head and Andrew wondered if he was still dreaming.

“No, you’re not,” Neil smirked again.

“Did I say that out loud?”

“I believe so, yes,” he laughed.

“Blue.”

“What?”

“Your laughter. It’s blue.”

Neil’s frowned and then tilted his head, all the while scratching through the cat’s fur. “What do you mean?”

Andrew shook his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned, only to find Renee standing behind him, both remaining stacks in her hands. “Thought I’d help.”

“I keep forgetting how strong you are,” Andrew sniped and Renee stuck her tongue out at him.

“Have you told Neil all the rules?” she asked, gently placing the paintings beside the bed.

“There are rules?”

Andrew took in his surprise and slight worry. “Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ll be expected to socialise twice a week,” Allison drawled from the doorway and Neil froze.

“What?”

“And then sleep naked,” she added, tying her hair up in a knot.

“What?” Neil and Andrew both chorused.

“And stand shirtless on the balcony every full moon night.”

“Oh,” Neil muttered. “You’re joking.”

“No,” Allison and Renee both chorused. Andrew’s brain had snagged on “naked” and he briefly forgot to form words.

“Andrew?” Neil called, jolting him out of his reverie.

“Um,” he tugged his ear and glared at both Renee and Allison. “None of that is true. Rent on the fifth of every month, we split grocery bills, the kitchen, drawing room and balcony are common spaces. I don’t get into your room and you don’t get into mine. Be nice to King.”

“That doable,” Neil nodded, swivelling around to glare at Allison.

“Oh and no sex in the common areas,” Renee said and Andrew and Neil choked.

“Okay,” Neil wheezed even as Andrew said “Renee” in the most accusatory tone he could muster.

“You tell each other in case you are having parties or inviting a lot of people,” Renee continued, looking supremely unconcerned.

“Right,” Neil got up brushing his pants and Andrew focused on Allison instead of Neil’s thighs. She raised an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of parties,” she began and Neil groaned. “No, Alli.”

“Shut up, Neil. We’re going to have one tonight.”

Andrew bristled, “No.”

But Renee said “please?” from her upside down perch on his bed and he sighed. “Okay. Who’s coming?”

“Matt and Dan. Some of Alli’s friends. Oh and Kevin too.”

Andrew stilled and then closed his eyes. “Why?” he bit out.

“You need more friends, Andrew.”

“I don’t think I can call him-”

“You don’t have to. I already did,” Renee smiled sweetly and Andrew glowered back.

“Hey, Neil,” he said, pushing his way out of the room and Neil followed him. “Yes?”

“Do you know to escape a party at your own house?”

Neil grinned at him and Andrew wanted to wipe it off his face. With his mouth, preferably.

\------

That evening, six hours later, Neil Josten realised that he was not having a good time. He rarely did, but there was a low thrum of annoyance coursing through him, unsettling for reasons he didn’t want to examine. He leaned against the strip of wall that separated his and Andrew’s rooms and sipped at something fruity in a bottle Renee had handed him a quarter of an hour ago. There were about 15 people milling around the flat and he knew no one. Except Renee, Allison and Andrew. And a few people he’d met while doing a couple of modelling assignments.

Andrew was perched on the kitchen counter. Neil cursed open plan kitchens as he watched Kevin Day lean into Andrew’s space and say something, earning a twitch from Andrew’s lips. Allison had introduced them earlier, mentioning in passing that Kevin coached Exy. Neil disliked him on sight, his hair, his firm handshake, his clothes and the way his eyes had lit up when he had noticed Andrew.

“You seem to be having fun,” someone drawled to his left and he tore his gaze away.

“Do I know you?” he asked the woman with a frown. Her smile widened and Neil felt trepidation sink through his bones.

“I’m Alma. Andrew’s friend.”

Neil squinted at her and she scoffed, “He has friends. I work at the grocery store you walked into last month.”

Realisation dawned on Neil. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” she grinned and pulled out a cigarette from her pocket. “I had front row seats to scarface.”

“No,” Neil groaned, glaring at his glass. “That was-”

“Unfortunate, yes,” she lit her smoke with cheap lighter. Neil grimaced, subtly inhaling the smoke that curled from the tip.

“I was very new then.”

She hummed in agreement, “And also very defensive.”

“Are you here to pick apart my personality?” he glowered and she laughed.

“Here for the free booze, but you’re a side attraction, don’t worry.”

He sneaked a half-smile at her. Which meant that he unfortunately caught an eyeful of Kevin Day stepping into the vee of Andrew’s legs. Neil stilled, distantly realising that the back of his neck was hot.

“Uh,” he said, the room narrowing down to the sight of Andrew tilting Kevin’s face up with the tips of his fingers and kissing him on the mouth.

“Oh,” Alma said next to him.

“Huh,” he replied, unable to tear his gaze away, unable to form one coherent sentence.

At that precise moment, Andrew flicked his gaze up at Neil over Kevin’s shoulders, from all the way across the room, and Neil felt heat ignite through his body. In a half-thought-out gesture, he raised the bottle to his lips and took a long sip and watched Andrew falter slightly.

He licked stray drops of juice from his lips, hating the way Andrew’s fingers slipped into Kevin’s dark hair. Hating that he felt like he was two sizes big for his body. His feelings were everywhere – uncontainable, wild, breaking out of the shackles of his mind in a messy fall.

He abruptly broke off eye contact with Andrew, and walked into the balcony, slamming the sliding door behind him.

“Damn,” he heard Alma say right before the door slid shut.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading xx Come yell at me in the comment section  
> The poster of Neil mentioned earlier is based off the amazing Chryseos's [artwork](https://chryseos.tumblr.com/post/190591235991/another-neil/)


End file.
